


Rope Enough Left for You

by notkingyet



Category: Moby Dick - Herman Melville
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 06:17:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3109193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notkingyet/pseuds/notkingyet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sailor needs to know his knotwork. Queequeg helps Ishmael learn the ropes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rope Enough Left for You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wallflowerdalek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallflowerdalek/gifts).



> Takes place during [Chapter 20: All Astir](http://americanliterature.com/author/herman-melville/book/moby-dick-or-the-whale/chapter-20-all-astir).
> 
> Thanks to [AndrogynyZombie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/androgynyzombie) and [AlterEgon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alteregon) for beta-reading!

> "Of late years the Manilla rope has in the American fishery almost entirely superseded hemp as a material for whale-lines; for, though not so durable as hemp, it is stronger, and far more soft and elastic; and I will add (since there is an aesthetics in all things), is much more handsome and becoming to the boat, than hemp. [...] The whale-line is only two-thirds of an inch in thickness. At first sight, you would not think it so strong as it really is. By experiment its one and fifty yarns will each suspend a weight of one hundred and twenty pounds; so that the whole rope will bear a strain nearly equal to three tons."

> _Moby-Dick, or The Whale - Chapter 60: The Line_

I have already written at length regarding the time spent between Queequeg and I signing aboard the _Pequod_ and our setting sail upon her. Having told of the preparations underwent for her voyage, and of our frequent visits to her by day, it now falls to me to tell what we did to occupy ourselves during the long late-autumn nights at the Try Pots.  
  
There was Mrs. Hussey's chowder, of course, but that can only distract a man for so long.  
  
On the evening after our first acquaintance with the _Pequod_ , I noticed a change in my Queequeg's disposition. He had exchanged his customary good-humor for a certain somber thoughtfulness. After a few hours of this melancholy meditation--including a cold and silent supper--we retired to our room, where I inquired as to the origin of his quiet mood.  
  
To my shock, he replied that he was concerned for my well-being on our upcoming voyage. In particular, he worried that I might not be prepared for the challenges of whaling.  
  
I reiterated that I had made no fewer than four voyages on merchant vessels. But Queequeg, like Peleg, appeared unimpressed by my past service. I was forced to concede and humor my friend's concerns by acquiescing to his proposed test of my knowledge.  
  
Having secured my consent, he brought out a length of rope--or line, as it would be called aboard a ship--and put it in my hands.  
  
In quick succession, I tied: the overhand knot, the square knot, the granny knot, and the thief's knot; the Alpine butterfly--or lineman's, or harness--loop, a pretty little five-pointed thing used to create a loop in the middle of a length of rope; the oysterman's stopper; the Flemish, or figure eight; the stevedore stopper knot; the Magnus or Magner's hitch; the heaving line knot and the monkey's fist; the Carrick bend, suitable for tying the ends of two ropes together or, if one is feeling particularly ambitious, to create a climbing net; the double Carrick bend, a pretty variation; the sheepshank; the Spanish bowline; the chain plait; the masthead bend; the lighterman's hitch; the lariat loop; the bow knot; and the fisherman's eye.  
  
In short, I tied everything but the Gordian.  
  
Queequeg knelt before me all the while to watch my progress. His dark eyes fixed upon my hands' swift movements with more attention than any mortal soul had ever granted me. The scrutiny shook my nerve not a little, but with each knot tied and untied, his furrowed brow relaxed by an equal increment, so by the time I had done and undone the last, he looked upon me with something approximating approval.  
  
However, before I could bask in said approval, he brought out his harpoon.  
  
Then I was made to tie: the half hitch; the anchor hitch; the running bowline; the clove hitch; the buntline hitch, to secure buntlines to square sails; the icicle hitch; the pile hitch, to attach a line to a mooring pole; a round turn and two half hitches; the halyard bend, the fisherman's bend; and the chain hitch; all of which of course require that the rope be secured to an object such as a post or pole, hence the shaft of Queequeg's harpoon brought out to serve this purpose.  
  
My knuckles and palms had softened during my recent stint as a schoolteacher, I admit, but by this point the calluses had begun to reform, and I sincerely hoped my re-education would soon be at an end.  
  
Queequeg nodded at my final hitch. He took the slack rope from my burning fingers. With the rope in one hand, he took up my wrists in the other, and before I quite realized what he was about, he had lashed them together in front of me in the neatest reef knot I'd ever seen--with the queer addition of a slack loop at the end before he pulled it taught.  
  
I stared at him.  
  
He returned my stare with an entirely too self-satisfied smile and made an open-palmed gesture at my bound wrists, as if to say, "Well? See to that."  
  
I continued to stare, and wondered if perhaps he had lost his wits, or I had lost mine when I agreed to this.  
  
He made no move to release me.  
  
I attempted to pull my arms apart, strained against the knots, twisted my wrists to get my fingers within reach of the line's end--to no avail. I brought my wrists up to the level of Queequeg's eyes, and explained to him what little humor I found in his exercise.  
  
Taking pity upon me, he held up one finger--as though there were any doubt whether or not he had my full attention--then used that forefinger in conjunction with his thumb to grip the end of the line. He pulled it delicately, as one might pluck a blossom from a branch, and the knot came undone as easily as ripe fruit.  
  
The rope fell away to the floor. I let it, preoccupied with stretching every joint it had restrained. Queequeg reached for me again. Since he no longer had the rope in hand, I saw no need to flinch from him, though the look I directed at him was by no means pleased. He ignored it, instead focusing his attentions on gently cradling my abused wrists in his fingers and massaging away the red marks left on my skin. This part, I confess, I liked far better than what had come before. I may have milked my supposed injuries to extend the treatment. Queequeg did not seem to mind.  
  
In time, my flesh returned to a healthy pink rather than an irritated scarlet. Seeing this, Queequeg abandoned his soothing efforts and brought up the rope again. I quickly put my hands as far out of his reach as I could. However, this placed them behind me. The moment I realized this, I put them out to my sides, arms outstretched, my wrists as far from each other as they could be without flying from my body.  
  
My new pose, in addition to my initial ignorance, brought on much mirth in my bosom companion. When he had recovered himself, he put the rope in front of me, and held out his own wrists at my mercy.  
  
I picked up the rope with some hesitation and residual wariness, but he made no move to stop me. Emboldened, I attempted to do unto him as he had done unto me. I managed a fair imitation of his slipping reef knot, and sat back with my palms on my thighs to admire my handiwork.  
  
"Now," I said to him, "shall you escape on your own, or shall I be a merciful tyrant and release you?"  
  
But my gloating stopped short as Queequeg brought his wrists to his mouth, took the end of the line in his teeth, and smoothly pulled himself free.  
  
My estimation of my own intelligence dropped considerably. Queequeg was kind enough not to mention it.  
  
He caught the rope in his hands as it fell free. I, humbled and contrite, gave him my wrists to do with as he would. He bound them in the slipping reef once more and left me to free myself.  
  
Throw a man into the open sea with no mooring line, and he will flail and thrash against the waves in his efforts not to sink. Tie a rope around him beforehand, however, and he regains focus--he will cling to the rope. If he has been assured of rescue prior to being flung into the deep, if indeed he has asked especially to be put out to sea with a line to shore, he may even feel enough at peace to enjoy the pull of the currents on his flesh, safe in the knowledge that the rope is stronger than they.  
  
I found myself feeling similarly when Queequeg bound me a second time. At liberty to pull the end of the line and undo the knot, I experienced no impetus, no frantic instinct to do so.  
  
I did experience a certain, less frantic instinct. Seeing no reason to deny it, I leaned forward to capture Queequeg's mouth in my own.  
  
He pulled away too soon for my liking, but as he did so to pull my wrists over my head and back down behind him, fitting himself into the loop made by my arms, I did not have cause to complain for long. I opened my knees to admit him closer. He slid between them as snugly as if he'd been formed especially for the purpose.  
  
After all our practice, the knots I'd used to tie up my trousers proved no barrier to him. They fell apart, and his hand delved down. I twitched eagerly at his touch and sat up straighter as if Galvani himself had administered the shock. I clutched him closer, he kissed me soundly, then broke off to trail caresses down my neck. I bared my throat to his affections. He kissed his way further south, his hands pulled me out of my trousers entirely, and his mouth swallowed me down.  
  
To be devoured in such a fashion is far from unpleasant, I find.  
  
Under such treatments and devices, I could not last long. I gasped out a warning. He paid it no heed. My vision pricked with infinite stars, doubled by their reflection in an infinite sea. My body strained against its bonds, my back arched, all my muscles pulled taut like the line between a boat and its whale in the moment before the latter dives, rushing down to fathomless depths. Had there been any breath left in my lungs, I would have cried out. As matters stood, I was drowned in my own ecstasy. I spent. Queequeg drank deeply of all I offered him.  
  
In the course of my contortions, I had fallen backward onto the bed. I lay there now, wrung out and weak, using what little strength remained in me to take ragged breaths into my shuddering chest. Queequeg crawled up to lie beside me and admire his handiwork. He stroked my sweat-streaked forehead, smoothing back the matted hair that fell across it, and nuzzled at my jaw.  
  
When he moved to untie my wrists, I made a sound of protest, for I had not yet fully regained my senses and feared to lose the one sure anchor I had to this world. If I were not restrained, would I not break apart entirely? But when my wrists were free, the rest of me was quickly bundled up by Queequeg's limbs. Thus encircled, I felt safe enough to drift off, certain I would not drift away.


End file.
